


A Claiming Fire

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Fetish, Kinks, M/M, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26270491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By joy.Frodo makes a strong need known to his loyal Sam.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 4
Collections: Least Expected





	A Claiming Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Spoilers: post-ROTK  
>  Warnings: violence, sado-masochism  
>  Disclaimer: Tolkien is a god. I own no part of his world.  
>  Feedback: Yes, please.  
>  Story Notes: Somebody wanted BDSM!Hobbits. I tried.

Frodo shifted in his bedclothes, unable to sleep once again. Another bout of sickness had befallen him, and he had lain in bed for a week with a high fever. Dreams of Sauron and the Ring filled his mind, clouding it with red, sand-swept terrors and cries of the innocent. While he moaned and kicked and cried, never remembering when he woke that he was home in the Shire, Samwise had dutifully taken care of him. 

It was beginning to show. Rosie never said a word, but so often, Sam would put his hand on her shoulder and wander out of the bedroom to go to Frodo. He spent hours sitting and watching the hobbit breathe. 

Now, though, Frodo's chest was falling up and down calmly. He was covered in a thin film of dreamsweat, and his hand held close to his chest, protecting his injured hand. His lips cracked open the smallest bit, and his tongue slid out to stretch. 

Sam straightened up. He had been crouched over his master for almost two hours, and his back was aching. He reached for the mug of water on the bedside table, but Frodo closed his eyes, refusing. 

"No, Sam, I'm afraid I need something else." 

"What would that be, Mr. Frodo? Some food, perhaps?" Sam stood, ready to do anything for Frodo. Anything at all; anything would be simple after the task they had already undertaken. 

Frodo sat up, using the headboard as support for his thin, frail body. 

"I've been thinking, Sam. Thinking about..." He shook his head, unable to speak of the horrors. "I need something, something that defies all I know of goodness and love." 

Sam listened quietly. He barely understood what Frodo was talking about. After all, he had only been the loyal companion. He had no knowledge of greater things than a cabbage-patch and a rake. Frodo had always dwelled on deeper matters, probably the influence of his Uncle Bilbo. It scared Sam. 

"Mr. Frodo, don't. What a hobbit needs right now is good food and drink to heal your spirits." 

"Sam?" Frodo whispered. "Don't leave me." 

Sam, a third of the way across the room, stopped in his tracks and came back to the bed, sitting next to Frodo and grasping his hand tightly. "No, no, I'll never leave you." 

Frodo scooted closer to Sam, folding himself into the younger hobbit's lap. Sam barely blinked. It seemed so natural to hold his Frodo like this, like a lover. Their souls had grown so close that it was almost expected for their bodies to follow suit. 

"Sam... could you?" 

"Could I what?" Sam was leaning down over Frodo now, but not in concern, more in desire now. His face was flushed, and heat was rushing through his limbs. 

Frodo gritted his teeth in determination, then softened into a pleading innocence. 

"Hurt me, Sam." 

Sam nearly leaped across the bed. "No! Frodo, I couldn't!" 

"Sam. Please." 

Sam drew in a few ragged, desperate breaths. He didn't want to hurt his beloved, and he had sworn that he never would. But now, Frodo was asking, asking with that tone he could never refuse. But he was asking for the impossible. How could Samwise, plain old Samwise Gamgee, possibly lash out at Frodo Baggins in anything but love and tenderness? 

"It's a part of me now. I need angry hands and bruised flesh." Frodo tried to explain. 

Sam shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Mr. Frodo, if I did, you'd never forgive me." 

"I'm beyond forgiveness now, Sam. And I ask you again, hurt me." 

Sam started to nearly cry. "My Frodo... don't. Don't make me do this. You're too kind and good and you shouldn't have had to take the Ring, and please, no." 

Gripping Sam's shoulders, Frodo looked deep into his friend's eyes. "Please." 

Sam shivered, nodding so subtly anyone but the two of them would have missed it. They moved away from each other, then Sam drew back his hand, shaking uncontrollably, trying to judge where to hit Frodo to inflict the least bit of damage. 

His palm swung across the room and collided with Frodo's pale cheeks, bringing color to the surface. Frodo's head jerked, but he held his ground. Sam slapped him again, feeling something bubble from the bottom of his hobbit soul. 

Something ugly and evil, something that felt wrong to the very core. Frodo looked so very delicious, waiting for punishment. Sam's loins jumped to attention. The smacking noise of flesh against flesh was delectable, almost edible. The desire to drive Frodo down into the sheets and bend him to his will was so tangible, so touchable. 

Sam's face changed, transforming from pained effort to glowing. Frodo watched him carefully, trying to disguise his enjoyment as Sam knocked him back into the bed and his face burned. Stars swam in his vision, and they seemed to converge in his belly, drawing themselves into a tight ball of need. 

Sam picked up Frodo then, and tossed him to the floor, eliciting whimpers. He reached down as Frodo tried to get back up, twisting his arm, slamming him back to the floor, straddling him. Frodo turned his head to avoid the blows, but it was all in show, and Sam understood. The blows fell again and again, and Frodo sighed with arousal, moaning loudly as he could no longer hold it back when Sam finally yanked him close and preparedto hit him once last time. 

Sam stopped panting from exhertion. "Frodo?" It was so hard to slow down the thoughts in his head, visions of beautiful pain, and anguished love lying across a bed, droplets of blood scattered on the linen. 

Frodo smiled at him, arching his back seductively, and pressing his lips to Sam's. Through the blood, coppery and slick, Sam could taste the fire. Frodo had enjoyed all of this, it was apparent in the way Frodo's hands were creeping into his curls and the thick pressure straining his trousers as he pushed against Sam's hips needfully. 

"Thank you..." Frodo whispered, before gathering Sam into his arms and claiming him as his own.


End file.
